


A Visit To The Dentist

by rustyHalo



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Post-Sburb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-03-26
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:35:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustyHalo/pseuds/rustyHalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stupid fucking door chime chimes chimily as you open the goddamned door. Everything is fucking stupid to you right now because hell if you don’t hate the dentist. You hate the stupid white fucking nerd labcoat. You hate the noisy fuckass kids running around inside the clinic as their parents do nothing to settle the wrigglers. You hate the damn polite receptionist who always seems to be intent on smiling and not doing anything aside from ushering idiot patients inside. Even if today, you are one of those idiot patients.</p><p>(You also hate but ignore the fact that you feel like Vantas this very moment, although that’s not important right now.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Visit To The Dentist

**Author's Note:**

> Hell yes to my second Homestuck fanfic. Boo-yah! Alright, time to begin this pelvic-thrustin' party up in here. Also, I put a lameass self-insert in here so if you find it, just go...tell me or something.

“My teeth are fuckin’ fine, John.”

“Yeah, right, Dave. Because chewing jelly is supposed to hurt.”

“I’m a-okay, in tip-top shape, man. ‘sall good.”

“No! I’m bringing you to the dentist, and that’s final!”

Dave paps John on the head with a monotone ‘no.’

Out of ideas and straws to grasp on, the raven-haired kid—teen, whatever—huffs. “Fine. No kisses for you!” He stands up and pulls Casey with him. The little lizard thing bubbles out her spit shit, and John reprimands her. “No, Casey! Daddy Dave is an outcast from now on!”

The last thing Dave hears is the glub-glub-glubbing of the reptile as John shuts their room’s door.

He sighs. Jesus Christ, living his own damn life in this household is impossible. Of course, counting on the fact that his life is now their life, meaning John shares Dave’s and Dave John’s. But hot dang. This was too fucking domestic. How did this happen? They even have a child for fuck’s sake! An adopted intergalactic salamander-child, that is. A child, nonetheless.

Dave leans his head back on the couch where John’s raggedy scarf thing lies. John is mad because of the most trivial piece of shit ever.

Namely, Dave’s teeth.

Namel-namely, his really bad tooth.

Okay, so maybe it isn’t so trivial. After all, with Egbert, oral health is pretty much as high priority as keeping the CrockaDockaBettHag off his—their—kitchen. Especially if you want a kiss. Or more.

Alright, fine, that’s it, Dave decides. He's going to the dentist. He takes out his sweet new iPhone 4s and texts John up.

hey man im sorry  
jeez, dave. sorry doesn’t always cut it.  
truly am bro let me make it up to you  
i’m listening.  
shit lets be patients

You don’t know if he would get that. You hope he does. Hell, you two’ve been living under the same roof for a while now, if he doesn’t, then you’ll be damned.

i’m driving. :B

* * *

The stupid fucking door chime chimes chimily as you open the goddamned door. Everything is fucking stupid to you right now because hell if you don’t hate the dentist. You hate the stupid white fucking nerd labcoat. You hate the noisy fuckass kids running around inside the clinic as their parents do nothing to settle the wrigglers. You hate the damn polite receptionist who always seems to be intent on smiling and not doing anything aside from ushering idiot patients inside. Even if today, you are one of those idiot patients.

(You also hate but ignore the fact that you feel like Vantas this very moment, although that’s not important right now.)

For the record, you are so not afraid of dentists.

John elbows you. He can feel the admittedly-not-so-chill aura emanating from you, although this little girl comes up and looks at you and decides to pull your pants leg, which means she probably didn’t feel anything John did. You swear to God and all the other gods in the universe this boy ripped out a part of you and slapped it to himself because he knows you all too well.

“Good morning.” The redheaded woman at the reception smiles at the both of you, though you take a seat at the not-so-occupied couch parallel to the flatscreen TV on the wall. “Do you have an appointment with Doctor Studwell for today?”

John beams right back, “Oh, not really, we just came in for a check-up and stuff.” His teeth and all its overbite glory would bring shame to all the patients who come into their dentists weekly and pride upon those who chaired the FDI.

“Very well, fill out this form and just take a seat, and please wait for your turn.” She hands your bro a clipboard and a pen with a huge comical tooth on the top.

“Thanks,” Egbert says and glances at her nametag, “Robynn.” He smiles and prudently (what, are you a teacher now?) takes his spot right next to you on the couch.

He busies on the form and his little brows furrow in concentration, as if he were taking the LSAT or some serious college shit. Meanwhile, you lean back and cross your arms as you take a good look around the external part of the place.

Robynn the receptionist is making this hard for you. With your tinted ninja peripheral vision, you can see her combing a hand through her hair and moving it over her right shoulder. She's staring at you with a flirtatious smile. She probably thinks you're looking at her. Well, she ain't taking all the blames here, since you were only trying to peek into the hazy window to the deeper part of the clinic, which is almost behind her.

You gotta give it to her, though, she's done a good job taking care of her looks. But Earth (and Alternia) to Dave, you're a married man. Okay, not really. But, hey, you've got it flushed for John and John alone, and those feels are far too red (almost maroon, in fucking fact) to ignore. Plus, you have a daughter at home. You are not raising a child in a broken home. You have an ironic White Picket Fence dream to uphold.

You lean forward and whisper to your numero uno. "Hey, Egbert."

"Mm?" The derp just sat his choice ass back on the couch from a short trip to the receptionist's, where he put the form down on the counter. You scootch over, cause he's got a hand full of tooth pen, a butt full of leather and a smile full of dork.

"Gimme a kiss," you tell him in that oh-so-smooth drawl you are so lucky to have.

John drops the decoratively useful pen. "Wh-What?" He blushes before noticing the overgrown tooth blink different colors of light. "Oh, man, that's rad! It lights up!"

You roll your eyes behind your shades. "Yeah, the tooth's a-fucking-glow, man. Iraq says they wanna make up and sign peace treaties cause their writing-in-the-dark problems are done with. Come on, babe, kiss me quick."

The all-too-swiftly forgotten blush tints his cheeks again. "N-No! Why should I?" Then he swallows because you know he kind of remembers that, hey he's John Egbert and he's the matespritshit of _the_ Dave Strider??

You give in to his stubborn little game. "Bitches be lookin', just want them to know the Strider's taken and committed forever."

"Well," John pouts, "Beyonce says that if you like it then you should put a ring--"

"Christ's loincloth," you mutter as you pull him in and latch your lips onto his.

The room stops. Fyi, yes, that always happens when you kiss the boy, and it's like the floor is pulled out from under your feet and gravity shuts down, but this time 'round it's pretty literal. The kids running wild drop their shitty plastic Power Rangers megazords. Their parents look up from magazines and handhelds (seriously, who even uses a handheld anymore?) to see what was up. A teen with a sweet haircut just like yours but with golden brown hair who is just a few years younger than you snaps a photo and grins. You don't give a shit.

But most importantly, Robynn's jaw drops and she's pretty perturbed.

You unlatch from those sweet, godly, slightly chewed on lips with a nibble and settle back on the couch with a victory smirk. As an added bonus that makes you rank from the coolest guy ever to universal badass, you lick your lips nonchalantly and turn your attention to the TV and answer the question on Jeopardy.

"Holy popcorn, Batman."

As if on cue, the tool playing on live television takes to his microphone and shouts that same answer. Dude wins a hundred grand.

And there's your name, being called by the bitter voice of Miss Redhair McManstealer.

"Mister Strider, you can go inside now. Alone."

You stand up. The receptionist raises an eyebrow and you almost want to laugh. She thought John was Mister Strider and you know it; you were too lazy to fill in the form for yourself, remember? But that wasn't no issue, because hell if John wasn't a Strider now. For you, at least. You two have been arguing about last names as if you've already been married. Looking back on it, you might as well have fucking been.

John still insists you're Mister Egbert sometimes, though. Dave Egbert sounds hells disgusting, you prefer him John Strider.

You stand up, and John notices you tense up. Shit, this kid has gotten good. You look at him and smirk which translates as a smile for you two. That's an 'I'll be fine' for you. John frowns and sees that as a 'Hey man I'm shitting my pants here help me out.'

Shit. This kid has gotten _too_ good.

* * *

A few mishaps and negotiations later, you're sitting on a spare office chair beside Dave, on the dental seat-bed doohickey, and Doctor Studwell, seated on another office chair while mixing some white gooey stuff you can't remember where specifically was used (it was either for casts or cement for braces).

"Don't worry, Mister Strider--"

"Dave. Name's Dave. Fuck, doc, do I look like an old douche to you?"

You shoot him an exasperated glare. "Be nice to Doctor Studwell, Dave, jeez." You turn to the dentist. "Sorry, doctor, he's just nervous and a huge jerk. He's always like that." Aaand cue your grin.

You're being apologetically nice to him. You're not risking not smiling because, not to brag but no one's actually been unmeltified by your smiles. Except maybe Jack Noir and those imps.

The ortho-whatsit (you've never been good with terms, you had such a rough time with ectobiobobabyshmitter) returned the smile. He was probably the same age group as you. Wow his teeth are so white and clean and shiny!

"Call me Riff, and thank you, I _am_ a dentist." Oops. You might have said those complimentary thoughts aloud. "And don't worry, I'm quite used to behavior such as your friend's." He turns to Dave. "Now, Dave, this won't hurt a smidgen so don't...freak the fuck out."

A bit unprofessional as it may seem (and a bit trying hard he may come across), you think Doctor you mean Riff is kinda cool. You see his attempt at casualty work, because Dave loosens up, even if for just a fraction.

Riff presses a button and the dental chair gains height. Dave's eyes grow wide: his blonde lashes peek out above his shades just a bit.

You hold his hand and draw small circles with your thumb on the back of his fingers. Doctor Studwell--Riff, damn it--croons encouragingly to him, "Say 'aah'." He obeys like a child, even doing the aah-ing sound _obediently_. Later, he would affirm you he did that ironically. And later, you would roll your eyes and say, "Sure you did."

The dentist fiddles a little with Dave's teeth. He probably hits the problem, since Dave yelp-jumps on his seat. 

"Oops. Sorry," Dr. Riff says.

"Don't say sorry, you're a dentist, it's your fuckin' job to hurt me," grumbles Dave with a bite. It doesn't quite work though. His tongue was probably all over his offensive tooth which caused his dignity's downfall. The words were jumbly and slurred, so you figured as much.

You and the dentist laugh, much to Strider's shame. The doctor starts diagnosing him amidst chuckles.

"The cavities have made quite a hole on your first molar, as I suspected. You're going to need filling."

"What, that's like strawberry shit in cakes right."

"No, man, it's the white stuff they put in the hole so it won't hurt or become worse or anything."

"Well, shit, John, are you sure you're not taking dentistry? You know stuff."

Riff smiles, impressed. "Looks like someone's been visiting his dentist regularly."

"Different branch, sir--er, doc." You shrug sheepishly.

"I see. But, Dave, your friend here is right. It's like a small piece of white cement I'll be putting in the hole to stop the pain."

"White? You got other colors?" Really, you can't expect this guy to be the slightest bit polite.

"Dude, it's cement, not rubber for braces," you sigh.

"Oh, but we do have colors." Doc suddenly whips out a case, full of tubes of reds and golds and blues.

"Is it gonna hurt?" He turns his head to you as if you're the dentist and asks like a five year old. What an adorable little dork.

"Nope, you won't feel a thing." You don't tell him it will be because he would grow numb with opening his mouth all that time.

Dave smirks and opens the case. You see the color he picks and smile fondly as well once you understand why.

* * *

John and Dave find themselves later at the receptionist paying for the shit they had done to the stupid tooth.

The redhead girl--what was her name again?--chances a glance at Dave and then looks at John. "Are you sure you're not the patient? Don't you want Doctor Studwell to do something about that?"

John pauses and then laughs. His overbite was what the broad meant. "I used to have braces, but they didn't work exactly. It's kind of a weird case, but I'm okay with it. Trust me, I've been worse."

Dave almost punches her. Almost. He settles on accidentally-on-purpose toppling her pen-filled pencil holder, like a goddamn mature adult.

Dave holds John's hand in his and pulls him out of the office as soon as he let go of the dough.

"I did that ironically, ya know. The aah-thing." He twitches John's hand to make sure the kid's attention was on him.

John rolls his eyes. "Sure you did." Dave hits his shoulder lightly with a free hand. "Ow."

The two walk in silence to the open parking until the taller of the two looks up at the clouds.

"Hey, T.Z., I know what you mean by tasting colors now," Dave shouts at nothing in particular, "but your nuclear neon blue-green tastes like shit! And not even the good kind, if shit was even in the hemospectrum of good!"

He open-mouthedly slides his tongue over his molar, where a sheen of saliva coats a spot of still-rough teal.

"Well at least you didn't get Karkat's monochrome gray," John teases.

"Like hell if I even think of it."

Some overhead grumbling is heard unexplicably.

"I think that means 'fuckass.'" John bumps his shoulder against Dave's.

He looks at him, and then they both look up. Dave clutches John's hand tightly in his, and bows his head down to keep the all-too-unironic smile to himself.

"Yeah, yeah."

**Author's Note:**

> If you're a Fairly Odd Parents junkie, you'd probably get the reference I dropped in here.  
> Hint: It's Doctor Rip Studwell.


End file.
